


When the Sun Rises Again, It'll Be All My Fault

by doodnoice



Series: When the Sun Rises Again, It'll Be All My Fault [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Female Reader, Gen, Groundhog Day, Groundhog Day AU, Gun Violence, Prologue, male reader - Freeform, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 16:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodnoice/pseuds/doodnoice
Summary: You're immortal in the worst way possible: dying only to be resurrected and forced to relive the most traumatic months of your life. Even worse, you're the only one aware of the repetitions - until you're not.-Prologue to eventual Deputy/SeedsGroundhog Day Trope AU





	When the Sun Rises Again, It'll Be All My Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue to a [Groundhog Day](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GroundhogDayLoop) type AU. Future additions to the series will include separate versions of the deputy/seeds in the same situation.  
> -  
> Catch me at tumblr as [doodwrites](doodwrites.tumblr.com) for updates and other random content posts

You don't even realize it happened until you're falling backwards, landing squarely in someone's chest as Joseph holds his hands up in surrender. Everything stops - the gunfire, the chaos. It's as if the very world itself has decided that this is the end. The mists clear and the clouds part, revealing a cool blue sky and fluffy white clouds. It's beautiful. Peaceful. It's shaping up to be a real nice day.

Someone- Pratt, hefts you up from behind, shaking as he moves around to stand in front of you, holding you upright. He's saying... something, but his voice is muffled, like he's speaking to you through a plaster wall. His eyes flit erratically from your face, down, then back up. He looks stressed, a lot more than usual which is very telling, though you're more focused on the novelty of the situation; you don't remember this happening before. Your friends begin to gather around, each wearing a different expression of upset or shock, and you realize then, very quickly, that you can't feel anything - not really.

The Sheriff looks worried, shouting something as your hearing clears into a shrill ringing. You recognize the feeling, and find yourself begrudgingly impressed that you made it this far this time having not gone through this again. Hudson pushes past everyone with her deputy uniform shirt bunched in her hands. She stands beside you, looking into your eyes, and you hear her words just before she pushes the top down against your arm. _"Everything is going to be OK."_

You don't have the heart to tell her that it's not.

The pain blooms, aching somewhere deep between muscle and the bone marrow of your dominant arm. Your knees buckle, but someone is there to catch you, steadying you as you bite your tongue to keep from screaming, breathing heavily through your nose as you attempt to acclimatize to the agony. This isn't the first time you've been shot, and you know it won't be the last, but that doesn't stop the fact that it _hurts_ \- the first few moments just after are always the worst.

You can't help the whimper that claws its way from your throat as Hudson works on tying off the wound, hoping to stave off the blood flow like it matters if you bleed out or not. The pressure takes some of the edge off - not a lot, but enough for you to force yourself to move through it until at least the end.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you muster a half grin at Hudson before standing fully and walking up to a kneeling Joseph Seed.

He looks defeated and tired as always, and if you didn't know any better you might have looked at him in pity. You do, however, know better - probably better than anyone else. Underestimating Joseph's 'Father' act, at best, ends with you dead. You've given him too many chances without much change to expect anything more - anything close to humane.

You stop just in front of him, jaw clenched as you fight the urge to shoot him in the head, "Get up."

Even in your frustration, you realize something is off. The scene is different, though you suppose it's always different each time - just by a little bit -, but this is the first he successfully shot you with something other than bliss bullets. This time is the first he was really trying to kill you.

Joseph doesn't look at you, left hand clenching his black rosary as he whispers quietly to himself. You watch him with increasing irritation, even as the sirens kick on and the birds flutter from the trees above. You don't tear your hate-filled scowl from Joseph, ignoring your friends' approach and the Sheriff's usual "you're arrested" spiel.

This is between you and Joseph. This is personal.

You kick Joseph lightly - much lighter than you want, but he doesn't even so much as flinch. You try again, harder, the resentment and anger bubbling over, burning and itching like the still healing 'WRATH' scar etched into your chest. You dig your nails into your palm, "Get. Up."

There's a pause where only the sirens echo in the distance, and then Joseph looks up at you, eyes blank and... strange. He stands slowly, gaze never leaving yours, causing your own eyes to narrow-

Joseph falls forward, catching himself on you by grabbing your biceps. His fingers dig into your flesh, particularly clutching the sore injury he left you with a sort of purposefulness you can't dismiss. His stare turns into a glare, mouth twisted in a snarl crooked with such viciousness that when he speaks, his words come out as a hiss, "This is all your fault." He shakes you, expression flickering with something too quick to catch before returning to fury, "Your fault and _mine_."

The Sheriff, Hudson, and Pratt rush forward to pull him off of you, but Joseph's hold is tight. He leans forward, speaking low, trembling in his anger, "This is not the end. It is never the end. God's Wrath is forever - mechanical, unforgiving. It works quickly and quietly like a snake. And I failed Him, and my family. I couldn't kill you; I couldn't stop the destructive path you led the world on. You're like a virus - a _sickness_. You're a devil among sheep. Blinding. Murderous."

The Sheriff manages to pry Joseph's hands from you and cuff them behind his back. Still, Joseph remains unbothered, growling low in a voice like poison, "I should have killed you the first time you walked into my church."

Your eyes widen. _The first time..?_

The bomb drops, and everything is suddenly bathed in a blinding white light. When it clears, you and Joseph meet eyes and he frowns, as if losing his bluster, "Perhaps... it is always going to happen this way."

Something inside of your snaps, tears stinging your eyes as the realization dawns on you. You launch yourself at Joseph, forcing him to the ground as you clench his throat with your good hand, "Did you know?! This entire time?!" Joseph doesn't look worried, eyes closed and tranquil. You can even feel him humming that fucking song. _That stupid fucking-_ you shake him, grip tightening and tightening until he looks at you, bruised face blotching red, "DID YOU FUCKING KNOW?!"

The Sheriff grabs you by the collar, hoisting you up and away from Joseph with a strength you didn't realize the old man still had. You try to fight back, reaching for Joseph even as Hudson and Pratt grab him and begin dragging him to the truck, but the Sheriff's grasp is unbreakable. "We have to go, Rook. The bombs-"

"But Joseph-"

The Sheriff shakes his head, not knowing - not _understanding_. "The world is ending, Deputy." He opens the driver's side door and practically shoves you in, "We'll deal with him later."

You want to scream. You want to tell him that no, you won't - that you'll all be dead in five minutes and not because of the bombs, but because you crash the car into a fucking tree and the damn truck catches fire and blows the fuck up. But when the Sheriff gets into the car and double checks to make sure everyone is inside, you lose your voice.

Joseph's echoes in your head. _It is always going to happen this way._

"Rook?" The Sheriff looks at you, gray brows furrowed deep in poorly concealed distress. You don't know what to do. You feel like a failure.

Pratt leans forward right beside your ear, "Come on already! Let's go!"

You start the car.

\--

The drive is short - your revival even shorter.

The moment the car crashes your world goes blank and a feeling like vertigo hyped up on crack scrambles your brain until you don't know which way is up or down. You fall and fall, or maybe float, until you land on your feet, boots meeting solid ground.

It's silent - deadly so. It makes your nerves sing and your blood ache. It's unnatural being wherever you are, now. A time between your death and the new cycle you have to go through. You take a deep breath, already knowing what to do next, and reach forward despite not being able to see anything through the void. Your hand smooths over cool metal. You take another deep breath and then push.

Chirping birds and fresh, crisp air greet you in a flood of the only sort of familiarity you find welcoming anymore. You check your holster and adjust the collar of your deputy uniform before setting off.

Not even a second later, your radio crackles and you hold it up in preparation to listen to Dutch's instructions, despite not needing them - it's comforting to hear from a friendly voice, especially after what you've been through.

A few moments pass by with a strange silence that causes you to stop walking in curiosity. You look at the radio and adjust the volume, ready to try to reach Dutch yourself, but stop short. A voice comes through the channel, but it isn't Dutch's.

_"Well, if it isn't my favorite Deputy finally coming out to play."_

You freeze, blood running cold. You pull out your side arm and look around, about to dive into cover only to jerk backwards, falling onto your back as a bullet rips through your shoulder. You lay in the dirt, gasping, clutching your injury and desperately trying to catch your breath. Then, a shadow falls over you and a face you weren't expecting comes into view.

The smile you're given is humorless and dry, "Did you miss me?"

You stare up, stunned, mind working a mile a minute, but before you can question anything, the butt-end of a rifle smashes into your face, knocking you out cold.


End file.
